Flickerfire
by Distopia
Summary: As the dark, violent images that dwell within her nightmares slowly bleed into her reality, she knows that she must make a choice... before it is stolen from her. ONESHOT


_Series: _Yu Yu Hakusho

_Genre: _Angst/Tragedy

_Author: _Aethyrial Flame

_Summary: _As the dark, violent images that dwell within her nightmares slowly bleed into her reality, she knows that she must make a choice... before it is stolen from her. ONESHOT

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho or any of it's characters. Hell, I don't even have a pretty Youko Kurama keyring yet…

Just a short little piece. Not sure if it turned out the way that I wanted…. But meh. It's purposefully vague, and, yes, _is_ one of the female leads for Yu Yu Hakusho. But who is it? I'll leave it up to you too guess… Obviously, they are going insane.

((EDIT as of 7/2/06: went through and changed minor grammar, added words that I forgot… little things, really.

* * *

"_I don't wanna call my friends,_

_Or they might wake me from this _dream

_And I can't leave this place,_

_Lest forgetting all that's _been_."_

_**Dido, Here with Me**_

Flickerfire

It called to her.

Seductive, promises of power whispered across the darkest stretches of her mind, filling her vision with tempting visions of what could be. At the limits of her senses, people brushed buy; soft, blurred edges, and faded, transparent voices. But she could hear them perfectly, every word that fell from their lips.

They tempted her.

She knew how very, very easy would be to simply succumb- to drown in forgetfulness, to discard the memories of what had happened. It would be easy; oh, so very, _very_ easy for her to do such a thing. But she wouldn't, couldn't, _shouldn't_. The blame was hers, and hers alone, and not for anyone else to shoulder.

And yet… and yet… one face, above the blurred masses of memories that haunted her, stood out from the crowd. One face that never attempted to seduce her or sway her, one mouth that never uttered words to change her, one gaze that simply stared.

That face, she instinctively knew, could prove her salvation. It was a face that dogged her steps, always, both waking and sleeping; and a voice that filled her ears, drowning out the deadly whispers.

He, she knew, had no idea of what she had done. _He_ had not stood buy and watched as if from a distance, as she turned on those that had only ever shown her love and affection; had not seen her bathe in the blood of the fallen with fiendish delight.

No one seemed to notice the crimson liquid that stained her soul, and her hands.

Occasionally, they would ask her if she was okay- soft, murmured words of comfort, promises of aid, vows of eternal affection.

And yet, she knew, if she _told_ them, unburdened herself unto another, then they would turn on her. How could they not? Even the memory of what she had done was enough to make her physically nauseous, and she gripped her stomach, hair falling free to shadow her face, as the organ violently rebelled.

Gasping, sucking shallow breaths into cramped and screaming lungs, she fought for control- again. It seemed as if that was how she had spent her life- always fighting not to give into those urges, the ones that played like shadows before her eyes as she walked the sunny earth, ones that whispered in her ears as she smiled at companions.

To the side, vibrant viridian gaze concerned, one of the taller males of the group slanted her a quick, searching glance. She could see the probing questions waiting in his mouth, straining to make their way free into the world; could feel the licking, tender touches of his aura searching her own.

As always, she fooled them; wether through soft smiles and laughter, or through a cleverly side stepping remark, their attention always slid sideways, minds easily diverted.

She hated this deception; hated how she was forced to lie, time and time again. But she couldn't risk them finding out; couldn't risk them knowing her deepest secret. When they finally left, she slumped bonelessly against a wall, slender form exhausted buy the act of pretence. It never seemed to end, this endless roundelay.

No matter that the memories lay in wait for her at night, each new one more gruesome and graphic than the last. They left her shaking and terror soaked in the middle of the night, staring at her hands, desperately searching for the wounds that she _knew_ where there.

No matter that what she remembered was but a promise of what would come. No matter than if anyone _knew_ that she harboured those thoughts within her, that through their rejection, they would come true.

Soft, silent tears streamed down her face, leaving burning tracks of reddened skin behind the bitter fluid. Crumpled in on herself, she hugged her cotton clad legs, face buried against the thick material. Deep within her, she could feel herself breaking, slowly, and cautiously.

Crack buy crack, piece buy piece, her determination was flaking away. And the whispers… oh, Kami, the whispers… Always there, offering a slyly jibing comment, a dour, cutting observation; they filled her mind with dark and angry thoughts.

If she let them, they promised, they would take away the memories of what she would do; she would never be bothered buy them. And as tempting as the offer was, she knew that she could not give in.

For if she did -if she forgot- then it would come true, as surely as the sky above her was clouded with thick, dark thunder heads. Because if she forgot, then what was to warn her? No. This burden she would bear, in order to save them; those that loved and cared for her, those that she knew and cared for.

Her friends, the voices whispered, would help her forget as well, if she told them- and that, too, was dangerous. She couldn't forget- _wouldn't_ forget.

She would suffer, as she was meant to, reliving each death, each wound and injury that clawed at her soul. For she would _not_ betray them- not they, no, who had loved and trusted her for so long…

Slowly, her shoulders stopped shaking. Slowly, the tears dried from her eyes. And slowly, the wide, jagged fractures of her soul closed together; if only for a little while. Because it was only for a little while that the memory of a burning garnet gaze could soothe the violent, ragged edges of her memory.

Shaking, shuddering, she hauled herself to her feet and staggered down the hallway. Weak, and trembling, she dragged herself into the bathroom, and splashed her face with cold, cold water. Haunted, broken, glassy orbs stared back at her. Not for the first time, she felt sickening revulsion and self disgust cloud her thoughts as carefully, she began to piece the mask back together, fragment buy jagged fragment.

The film of old, old pain and violence slowly cleared from her brightening gaze, and the hunched, wounded cast that she had adopted disappeared as she straightened. Carefully, she washed away the evidence of her tears, lightly powdered her face, and adjusted her clothes. Brightly, her smile flashed back at her from the mirror; surely, she thought, they must see this and be sickened buy it. And yet, they where not- she had seen them share secret, knowing smiles as she pretended to be happy, the type of secret smiles that said, 'all is well'.

But it wasn't, and hadn't been for a long, long time.

Her memory of when the nightmares had begun was dim and faint, but in a way, she knew that they had always been there, always dogging her footsteps. Broken, shattered memories of fire flickering from a thousandfold reflections, of blood splashing in great, crimson gouts, and enemies falling before her. In the beginning, they had been exciting.

Childishly, her mind had glossed over the graphic violence of her dreams, and she had pretended that she was a great hero. The truth, however, had shattered her petty illusions, just as surely as it had shattered her mind so many times before now. The thought made her wince, and in the mirror, her countenance wobbled alarmingly.

The eyes, which had been so bright, dulled steadily, until it seemed that they where merely glassy impostors, for no life resided within them. From downstairs, the loud, jangling sound of the bell ringing startled her; hastily, she threw the mask back into place, pasting a winning smile across her countenance instead of the wounded grimace that had previously occupied it.

Around her fragile mind, she drew the memory of short lived conversations (_and his voice, it soothed the whispers,_) and secret, hidden gazes (_and his eyes, burning through the crowds,_) like a cloak of strength. Shivering, shuddering, drawing on tainted memories as a source of protection, she hurried downstairs, wincing and flinching as the discordant jangle of the bell rang throughout the house once more.

Briefly, she attempted to call out from a throat gone dry from terror; around her, they closed in, bloodied hands and gore stained knives raised, flails and chains dripping crimson fluid in a thousand pattering droplets like rain upon the floor. Low and shuddering, her breath hitched in her throat as she flung the door open.

Not trusting her voice, she hurried away, desperately scrabbling for some way to hide herself. _No_! her mind screamed. Too many times had they caught flashes of the pain she held within her, and gave her cautious, wary glances- she couldn't afford their well meaning concern, not now!

Body shaking with the force of her pent emotions, she bit her tongue, clenched her fists, and waited for the spasms to cease. Finally, calmed somewhat, she pasted a smile over her face and moved to greet her guests. In the corners, the transparent forms of her memories cackled and leered; as she moved towards her friends, she forced herself to bite back a cry of dismay, as an eviscerated mockery leant half through his reflection.

Gaze wild, she froze, glancing out of the room. The reflections… the shadows… Howling, screaming, jeering and cackling, the transparent hordes crept closer and closer. Grasping, clutching fingers reached for her, and she shivered, knowing the pain that their touch inflicted. Hot and tangy, blood filled her mouth; distantly, she registered the fact that she had bitten through her tongue.

Desperate to block the nightmares from her waking mind, she searched for _him_- he who had given her strength countless times before, had driven the wraiths away with his burning gaze- and found nothing. She froze, as dimly, almost as through a tunnel of white roaring, the noise of shouting, concerned voices attempted to peel her away from the dizzying sickness clouding her mind.

But the time had come.

It was now or never; now, she would either face her nightmares and beat them back; or she would re-create them… Fingers clutching the hems of her pants, she buried her face in her lap, shaking her head in denial. Low, wounded noises keened from her throat as, scenting victory, the ghosts swarmed in.

Swathed in robes of crimson and gore stained flesh, a bloody parade of mutilated victims danced behind her eyelids, phantom limbs ripping through her, pain blossoming from where they struck back.

At last, unable to take it anymore, she lifted her head from her knees, finally meeting the gazes of her companions. And slowly, through a rapidly clouding gaze, she saw what she had feared most. Worry written clearly on their faces, they leant closer and closer, until she could feel them crowding around her, aura's butting dangerously against her own, gazes so _invasive_!

And she made her choice.

There was no one there to save her; not she, who did not deserve it. Mind dissolving with the force of her grief, she threw herself forward, desperate to take action before the chance was taken from her. Fingers already slick with blood, she scrabbled for what she knew was there, shifted position, darted past wildly waving limbs, and, finally… she struck.

From a peaceful neighbourhood home, a broken, heartfelt scream rang throughout the quiet stillness of the afternoon. The broken, jagged edges of the sound caused many people to stop and flinch at the raw, unbridled sorrow that dwelt within the sound. At length, it stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the peaceful residents spared no thoughts for the sound.

In a small living room, a small figure covered in thick, dripping slashes of crimson sighed deeply, a smile curving her lips as, at last, the darkness within her soul consumed her.


End file.
